


Keep It

by petals42_tumblr (rosepetals42)



Series: Check Please Tumblr Fics [4]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Excel Says, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Panic Attacks, Ransom/March in Chapter 1, That's only in Chapter 1 too, Unrequited Love, then happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-08-08 01:01:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7736944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosepetals42/pseuds/petals42_tumblr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the start of their senior year, Ransom is dating March and Holster is okay. Of course he is.<br/>Except when he's not. </p><p>(A Holsom fic originally posted to tumblr that has a happy ending. Promise.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Keep it Small

**Author's Note:**

> Another one I am moving over from Tumblr-- A Holsom Fic that starts sad and gets happy!

**Keep It Small**

People don’t know as much as they think they do.

Throughout this whole thing, that’s the primary fact that Holster has learned for himself: People don’t know. And they aren’t good at guessing much either.

Freshmen year, everyone “knows” that Ransom and Holster have been friends for years (not true, they’d met first day of hockey pre-season, same as the rest of the team) and everyone “knows” by sophomore year that they are always down for a threesome (they’d only done it twice actually; twice before it got to be too much) and, when Junior year comes around, everyone “knows” that Ransom and Holster are “best friends for life.”

“The closest bros,” people say. “On the same wavelength.” “Downright freaky.” “Always thinking the exact same thing.”

Also not true. Well, partly true. Most of it could be true.

If it weren’t for the other thing.

Of course, that’s where people are the most incorrect. Not even just the other guys on the team. Everyone, from what Holster can tell. The entire human race.

Because people think being in love is this huge, all-encompassing thing. They think it takes over and colors all it touches and it’s a constant stabbing, shooting pain that makes the friendship not worth it.

That’s not how it is, though. Not for Holster.

Holster is very careful. He keeps it small. He keeps it contained. He very carefully does not think about it and does not entertain it.

For him, love is the tiny corner of his brain that he locks away and ignores.

Ignores. Not denies.

He hasn’t bothered denying it since sophomore year. He let himself feel it and then let himself flirt with it (those two threesomes) and then very carefully put it aside.

There is no chant of _what if_   when he and Ransom leap into eachother’s arms during a celly. He does not think _if only_ when someone jokes “you two might as well be dating!” His brain is not flooded with _ohmygod, ohmygod_ when he and Ransom cuddle for warmth in the attic.

No, he rolls onto his side and tells Ransom to go to sleep and then follows his own instructions. They do not wake up tangled together and the payment for using Holster’s bed is exactly two episodes of the sitcom of his choice so Ransom will wake up, stay for exactly 48 minutes, and then they go about their days.

Holster does not regret what could have been.

He does not stare at Ransom’s cheekbones and wonder. He helps create a new best bro handshake and laughs at Ransom’s jokes and keeps Ransom calm through a thousand and one study-induced panic attacks.

Of course, he also doesn’t date. But then, to be honest, not many boys on the team do. There’s no time for it. He is not strange or different and everyone “knows” he is hooking up with plenty of people.

No need to worry. He isn’t worried.

Junior year, Holster does not flinch when girls ask if they are still “up for something different,” he smiles and shakes his head and “don’t worry, my boy there can handle everything himself” and finds somewhere else to be that night.

(He always leaves with a girl, drops her off, and then circles back. He has lost track of the times he has broken into Samwell’s library and crashed on a couch on the second floor. He uses one of the computers to watch some 30 Rock and keeps a cell phone charger hidden in the stacks and remembers to set an alarm so he wakes up in time for breakfast.)

The thing the people _really_ don’t understand (or wouldn’t, if he told them all of it) is that Holster is happy.

He has a great team, a great life, and a great best friend. He doesn’t really need more. There’s a difference between want and need, after all, and he doesn’t even know what a relationship with Ransom would look like.

Maybe it would be even better than what they have, but maybe it wouldn’t. Holster’s never been in a relationship. He has no idea what he would even want it to be. Maybe he’d be jealous. Maybe Ransom would want to hold hands too much. Maybe it would actually all be terrible. Maybe they are better off as friends.

(Maybe it would be perfect but that doesn’t matter.)

Either way, he doesn’t let himself think about it, doesn’t lay awake at night and imagine them in different scenarios, doesn’t daydream or picture Ransom’s face when he jerks off.

Somedays he even thinks he’s not in love at all. But then he goes on a date and it’s just… flat and denial only makes that little part of himself more insistent.

So, yes, he’s in love. But in pain? No. No, Holster is okay.

For the most part.

Really.

99% of the time he is happy.

There are… slips. Moments when that little part of his brain that is supposed to be carefully tucked away somehow runs the show and suddenly, Ransom is _Justin_ and he is awake at 4 o’clock in the morning wondering what to get him for his birthday and Holster doesn’t _do_ temptation but the phrase “a birthday kiss” comes into his head and for two days straight, Ransom is Justin and Justin is a _maybe_ and–

The worst, though, is when he’s not ready for it.

Coming home in the _middle of the afternoon_ to find Ransom having sex throws him more than he’d like to admit. Not that he minds (good for Ransom!) but he is not prepared and he had plans to challenge Rans to a game of Madden and Holster is not an uptight dude who sticks to a schedule ever, but for some reason this one was important and folding laundry is annoying and Jus- no, _Ransom_ has a  _test_ the next day and–

It is a slip. A big slip. And it takes Holster the rest of the afternoon to put his brain back in order.

He gets it together, though. And then he is fine for months. Junior year ends and Ransom starts dating March and when Senior year rolls around, he keeps track of how much they talk, but it’s not in a jealous way. It’s just… something to do.

No one calls him on it. No one would think to. After all, he’s somehow done the same for Jack and Bitty. He is a captain. He observes. Makes sure everyone is doing alright. Makes sure Tango isn’t too confused. Makes sure Whiskey’s relative silence is a happy one rather than a tense one.

Happens to know how often his best friend talks to his girlfriend and tracks the progress of hickeys as they rise and fade over time.

Really, Holster is fine.

Then Ransom and March celebrate their fifth month anniversary.

And they don’t just go to dinner. They don’t just go on a date. They go to a _bed and breakfast_ because by their sixth month anniversary, hockey season will have started and they will see less of each other and it is romantic. Ransom gives him no details except that it is “apparently pretty cool, bro - we should see if we could get the whole team to do a crazy fucking sleepover!” and it is something he can prepare for.

Holster holds up remarkably well being alone for the weekend. He watches a Real Housewives marathon with Bitty and helps Lardo with art stuff and ends up refereeing a series of challenges between the Frogs and the Tadpoles. He stays downstairs with everyone until he is tired and falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow both nights.

His streak continues. He even keeps it together for the next two weekends, when Ransom sleeps over at March’s apartment on both Friday and Saturday (it makes more sense, March has her own room, Ransom thinks he’s being polite by not sexiling Holster, maybe he is). They talk til late in the night on Sunday and they are still best friends and it is all fine.

Which is why it doesn’t make sense that the next Friday, when Ransom is _there_ , in the Haus, ready to hang out, that Holster suddenly can’t do it.

The little part suddenly takes over and he is so careful - so fucking careful - to avoid this and maybe that’s the problem, he works so hard at being careful when Ransom is _gone_ that he had forgotten to keep it together when he is here, but regardless when Ransom tells him that March is busy and it is a bro-night, Holster abruptly stops being able to breathe.

For the first time in his life, it is difficult. He has to work the smile onto his face and has to _think_ about their best friend handshake and by the time they get to beer pong, he think he has it under some semblance of control, but he can _feel_ it. Simmering.

It is a relief when Ransom gets a text message halfway through the night from March, telling him that she finished her paper early, asking him if he wants to come over.

“Dude,” Holster says. “You should go!”

“No, I mean, it was bro-night.” Ransom replies.

“C’mon, hockey starts up soon. We’ll have tons of bro-nights! Hotel bro-nights! The best kind!”

Holster likes this part. He knows this script.

He doesn’t think he should be alone in a room with Ransom right now.

“I dunno,” Ransom says. He looks uncertain still. Holster tries to take that and feed it too that part of his brain. Tries to tell himself that is enough.

“I’ll walk you,” he offers. “We can have bro-talk on the way over!”

“A PRE-DATE BRO-WALK!” Ransom yells and that is that.

_Half an hour_ , Holster promises himself. He only has to make it through another half hour. They do a few shots before they leave and fill up a flask “for the journey” and he is going to make it. When the walk takes longer because they are both pretty drunk and Ransom wants to stop and look at the stars, Holster remains calm.

If he can make it half an hour, he can make it forty-five minutes.

He does make it. He politely chats with March and waves to April and, sure, he has to drive his fingernails into the meat of his palm to do it, but he keeps it all together.

He even manages to walk away and get back to Samwell’s campus before his hands start shaking and the only solution seems to be to tip what’s left of the flask down his throat and–

_Oh fuck, oh fuck._

All his usual defense mechanisms crumble. _He is my best friend_ is drowned out by _I want more_. And _Significant Others come and go_ is answered by _Not always_. And _I am happy_ becomes _I hate this._

It’s a hard punch to the gut and he’s gasping a little bit, but not crying and it’s stupid but it’s his years of experience helping Ransom that allows him to recognize a panic attack when he sees it.

He sits down hard on the steps (and oh look, he’s made it to the library) and coaches himself through it.

In for three, hold for three, out for three. Again. Again. Again.

Up it to five. Relax. Everything is going to be okay. This is just a moment. Hold for five. A bad moment, but it will pass. Exhale for five. Again.

Up to seven. He should not have drank so much. But he is okay now. He is. In for seven.

The panic lingers. Enough that he thinks if he stops counting even for a moment, he will lose it again. Hold for seven.

He can’t do this forever.

_C’mon_ , he tries. _You are okay. Everything is fine. Everything is–_

He exhales hard on four and then it’s a quick gasp in and _this isn’t working, fuck, I don’t_ –

He scrambles for his phone.

Ransom is first on his Favorites list (always is, has been since Freshmen year) but the thought of calling him makes the panic worse so he scrolls down and–

Shitty is too far away. Same with Jack. The Frogs are… he is their captain and besides that the Tadpoles are too young and Bitty–

Bitty will ask questions. If Holster calls him. Lardo will _know_.

His mom is asleep and he scrolls back up to Ransom, breaths coming faster again even though he is exhausted, he knows, he can’t have that much energy to do this because he is–

He is not okay.

He thinks it and then the next gasp burns and his eyes fill with tears and okay. New plan.

He is going to let this happen. He is going to give himself one night. One night where he can be stupid and _want_ and–

He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes but it’s not really an attempt to stop the tears. It’s more to force them out. He stops trying to control his breathing and his emotions and his thoughts and just… lets go.

_I am in love with him_ , he thinks and he wonders how long ago he had actually let himself _think_ that. _He is perfect and he makes me laugh and he is an idiot but I love him._

He is glad there is no one around. No one to hear the choking sobs or the little wounded noise that comes out of the back of his throat.

He is glad that just this one time he is allowed to think about the way Ransom loops his arm up and over his shoulders (even though Holster is taller) when they celebrate- either on the ice or at the beer pong table - and pulls him closer and laughs into his neck. He lets himself think about the curve of Ransom’s smile and the way he curls his knees up to his chest when he is a bit anxious (usually about a test, sometimes right before a game), the way he does it when they are playing Halo and he has lost his controller and Holster is the one who is about to die.

It was Holster’s first sign, really. The fact that he always thought it was adorable. A big buff guy like Ransom curling up at the first sign of distress.

Holster curls his knees up now. Just to see it if actually helps.

He is too tall for it to be comfortable, but it’s okay. He likes that he has something to cling to. He likes that he can press his face into his knees and muffle the sounds.

He dislikes that it probably makes him look even more pathetic but he can’t worry about that right now.

He has to focus on the fact that he is desperately, completely in love with his best friend and that they will never be together. He has to remind himself that freshmen year, when asked, Ransom had said “I’m straight” and Holster had shrugged and replied “I think I am?” and Ransom said “Cool, bro.” and that was that.

He has to remind himself that for all the openings he’s given (“Man, Jack does look great in that picture” “That on fanfic we read, Ransom… how about that, huh?” “The guy is _wearing_ those shorts, don’t you think?”), Ransom has never given any indication whatsoever that he is attracted to dudes. Not really. Nothing beyond: “Dude, our captain _always_ looks fit as hell” or “That fanfic is burned into my memory” or “Yeah, he is- do you think I could pull them?”

Ransom is straight and he is not and it will never work and it is not fair.

It’s not _fair_.

Holster gives himself this one night to let that hit him. He thinks of all the things he loves about Ransom and then lists all the reasons they can’t be together and he tells himself he is only so upset because he is drunk and he tries to get mad about it for a little while. Tries to say that Ransom in an idiot, that he is out there dating the girl-version of Holster anyway but that’s not true.

March isn’t the girl-version of Holster. She is her own person. She prefers period dramas over sitcoms and doesn’t watch reality television and is majoring in political science and she really is great. She comes to their games even though she doesn’t really like sports and cheers for him and never gets mad or jealous that Ransom is never available to be her beer pong partner.

Holster can’t even hate her. She is perfectly nice to him. To everyone. She makes Ransom happy.

He can’t hate her and he can’t hate Ransom and so all that’s left really is to just sit and cry on the steps of the library like a pathetic loser.

So he does that. He makes it as painful as he can. Twists the knife in his heart to try to get it out and tells himself it would be perfect, that their relationship would be perfect, that their _lives_ would be perfect and it’s melodramatic and stupid but he does it because it’s all he can think to do.

He stops eventually. He thinks maybe the actual breakdown was fairly quick, all things considered. He doesn’t bother checking his phone to see the time.

“Okay,” he says, wiping his face and sniffing and taking as deep a breath as he can manage. Just to put an official end to the whole thing. “Okay.”

He stretches out his legs and sits and thinks about breaking into the library but it seems like too much work and suddenly he wants nothing more than to be in his own bed. So he stands and starts walking and muscle memory is the only thing that gets him home. His brain feels offline.

He gets to his room, feels a dull sort of victory that everyone else is already in bed, and puts on an episode of Community, only to fall asleep halfway through.

“Hungover,” Holster grunts when Bitty calls up to him the next morning. It’s not even a lie. He might be hungover.

His head aches and his hands are still a bit shaky and he feels… hollow. Wrung out and a part of him dares to hope that this is the end of it. That last night was grief for what he knows can’t happen, a final goodbye. A quick rundown of the five stages of grief and he’s already hit acceptance.

But when he looks up, he still expects to see the dip in the middle of the bed that tells him Ransom is there and there is a pang when it’s just the usual sag and–

It’s only ten o’clock.

Holster thinks he has at least three hours to get himself back in order.

Plenty of time.

He just has to keep it small.

 


	2. Keep It Organized

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, for some Ransom POV.

 

Ransom knows that, to most people, his Excel sheets are a joke.

Well, maybe not a _joke_ , but they aren’t meant to be taken seriously. They are just a thing that Ransom does to help plan events (mostly kegsters) or if someone has a particularly big life decision and most people assume that about half the time he informs them “Excel says,” he is making it up.

He’s not though.

Not ever.

Because he knows that people think he is bad at managing stress and, to be fair to them, he does tend to miscalculate and break down at least twice a year (finals) but, really, for how anxious he is _all the time_ , he thinks he does a pretty good job.

The lists help. He keeps track of things. He might have too much to do, but at least he keeps it organized.

In middle school, before he has his own computer, his room is a mess of post-its and lists and his family is happy chaos, always has been, but for Ransom that means his parents aren’t the type to keep track of things, are content to go with the flow and Ransom…

Ransom needs structure. So the lists become a whiteboard calendar and when he gets a laptop for high school, Ransom goes digital.

He picks Excel for many reasons. Primarily because Microsoft Word is too unpredictable (especially with bullet points) and, once he gets more advanced (figuring out his average in each class before his report cards come out, keeping track of his summer workouts so he is in shape for fall, etc), he needs the math that Excel offers him.

But also because no one in his family uses Excel. So when one of his sisters borrows his laptop (Excel says Kels borrows it the most), there is no chance they will look in the “Recent” files and see just how much Ransom relies on Excel sheets. For everything.

He’s not sure it’s normal. But when he forces himself to stop, his anxiety takes off. So, Freshmen year, he sort of mentions it to the team psychologist in his one-on-one meet-and-greet. Kayla goes quiet and asks a few questions about whether he has heard of compulsions and whether he feels stressed if he _can’t_ add anything to Excel sheets and he tries to answer honestly and at the end, tells him that “if you have stumbled upon a system for managing stress that works for you, then that is all that matters.”

It’s a relief. That he’s not letting his anxiety get the best of him. That this level of organization that keeps him calm isn’t _wrong_.

He has a system and it works and it’s like he told Kayla, he doesn’t _have_ to put everything in an Excel sheet. He just feels better when he does.

He has a good system now. For as complicated as some of the sheets are, usually it only takes him a few minutes a day to input the things he needs to input.

And he has stopped using them as much in college. Academics, sure, he has Excel sheets for his grade averages and when assignments are due and how long it takes him to work on each one and, mathematically, if he studies for 5 hours and gets an A minus on a test, then he could study for 6.5 and get an A next time and– okay, so he still goes a little overboard on the Academic side of things.

But, keeping track of his workouts is casual now and he doesn’t bother trying to count calories anymore (that was the one the Kayla warned him away from anyway) and everything else that he keeps track of is _fun_.

He tracks grocery use in the house so that he and Holster can use the car to get more before they run out (particularly useful for beer runs) and he rates their game play in relation to what drills they ran at practice (seriously, he and Holster have to try to live up to Jack somehow) and he can tell you who has the highest win percentage for each X-Box game that the Haus plays.

It’s all statistics. Statistics and math and fun and it’s important too. It’s memories of his time in college. He can tell you the dates of all their kegsters and the results of their many experiments (the numbers have skyrocketed since Tango joined the team) and last year, Chowder had asked him to track his playoff beard. So, Ransom has the file that says after 3 weeks, Chowder had only managed to grow exactly 7 hairs. Chowder claims he is going to beat it this year when they go all the way.

Of course, Ransom knows there are some things not to make an Excel sheet on. He does not have an Excel sheet for the different women he has hooked up with and while he does know how much butter Bitty uses, he does not let himself keep track of the different pies or what they may mean. He does not keep track of how often Dex and Nursey fight or how many dates Chowder takes Farmer on in a given month.

Really, people. Ransom tries to avoid making Excel sheets about people. Even in high school, a part of him felt that that would be crossing the line. That goes from organized to… weird. It would be one thing if people found out he had an Excel sheet tracking the number of times the cafeteria serves soup as a main course. That would be, well, he would expect to get chirped for it. But if people found out he had an Excel sheet trying to figure them out…

Creepy.

That’s what he always assumed people would think and so the rule stands: No Excel Sheets About People.

Except for one.

Although Ransom had tried to keep his Excelling habits a relative secret Freshmen year, he and Holster had attached themselves at the hip approximately 5 minutes after meeting and he doesn’t regret that - not for a single second but it does mean that it only took Holster approximately 5 days to find out about Ransom’s… habit.

_“Dude, these are so legit!” Holster says, leaning over Ransom’s shoulder. Ransom winces and tries to slam his laptop shut but Holster with his freakishly long arms has grabbed it and now he’s squishing right into Ransom’s chair and– “Wow!”_

_“It’s- it’s nothing,” Ransom says. It’s normal. Kayla had said so. “I just-”_

_“You must be so smart,” Holster says and yup, he’s taken control of the mouse and is looking through_ all _of the saved files. “Oh! You’re going to go to med school?”_

_“Um, yeah,” Ransom says._

_“Perfect,” Holster says. “I’m going to need a doctor at some point.”_

_He doesn’t seem freaked out. He’s not laughing. Not calling Ransom a neurotic freak._

_“Who’s Frank?” Holster asks, leaning closer._

He probably needs to get a new glasses prescription, _Ransom thinks idly._ He squints more when he has to–

_No. No people._

_“Frank’s is a restaurant by my house,” Ransom clarifies quickly. “I don’t do people.”_

_That’s too far. People are variables he is not allowed to consider. Doesn’t need to, really._

_“You should!” Holster says. “You could be like a secret agent!”_

_“No, I–”_

_“Practice on me!” Holster interrupts. He’s excited. He thinks this is cool. Ransom has actually never met someone who thought he was so cool before. “Do me!”_

_It’s been five days but Ransom already knows that when Holster talks like that, he is bound to give in anyway, so he obediently opens a new file and–_

_“Well, what do you want all the categories to be?” he asks._

_“You pick, dude! You are the expert!”_

_Dammit. This is not what he wanted._

_Still, if he has to…_

_Hesitantly, he types in “Favorite Sitcoms” and makes the X categories read “# of Rewatches” and “# of Laughs while watching” and “# of Quotes Said Regularly” and “Quotes picked up by other teammates” and the whole time Holster is cackling and more and more things get added to the list. Things that he somehow knows after only 5 days._

_He adds “Saved Shots” and “Drinks til Drunk” and “Eye Check-up” and “Vocal Range” and–_

_There._

_Holster has an Excel Sheet._

Even, now Holster is the only person with a file. He is the only person who knows the extent of Ransom’s Excelling. He is the only person who was once allowed to edit it (after a concussion their freshmen year when Ransom wasn’t allowed to look at screens and wasn’t allowed to study for a week either and that made him more stressed than he could possibly say so– _Let’s rework the numbers,_ Holster suggested as Ransom started to panic. _C’mon, bro, tell me what to type in._ )

Holster’s Excel sheet is an inside joke more than anything else. His original lists have been populated and more ridiculous ones have been added ( _Most Chicken Wings Eaten in a Sitting, Number of Times Cried Watching Real Housewives with Bitty,_ and, _Halloween Costume Rankings_ ) and fuck, yes, okay, he has _GPA Breakdown_ for each class just to make _sure_ Holster isn’t slacking too much. But, still, mostly a joke.

He has no idea why he is staring at it right now.

It’s not going to tell him anything and even if it did, he made a promise to himself a long time ago that he would not use his little habit to pry things out of people. It’s his one rule.

It’s worth breaking though. That’s what he tells himself.

Because he is supposed to be studying for his last bio class of his college career (he had planned it so his second semester senior year is _ridiculously_ easy) but…

Something is wrong. There is a tickle at the back of his head. Almost like anxiety except he has been over his excel sheets a thousand times. There is nothing out of place. Nothing.

Except.

Holster watched The Office with Nursey yesterday and Ransom didn’t _mean_ to track anything except it’s become sort of a habit. “# of Times Laughed” while watching any given sitcom is one of the original categories. And so when he plugged it in, he couldn’t help but notice that the number was much lower than usual. Even for The Office.

And so he’d started looking.

Most of the numbers are fine. Holster’s GPA is a bit higher than it usually is in mid-October but he’s finished all his hard classes so that can be accounted for and he is on a losing streak in Madden but apparently Chowder spent the whole _summer_ playing the game and so Holster’s losing streak could just as easily be the inverse of Chowder’s winning streak and everything else is perfectly normal.

At least the numbers that are _there_ seem within the normal range. But what he realizes on his thousandth pass over the Holster Excel sheet is that he is missing a lot of data. Some categories haven’t been updated in weeks. Categories that are usually updated almost daily, ones like “Number of Songs Sung in the Shower” or “Got too Excited and Flung Glasses Off his Head” or “Complaints about Ransom’s Wardrobe,” have gone stagnant.

“Wrestling Matches Won” hasn’t been updated at all their Senior Year. And, okay, he expected that to take a hit with the departure of Shitty but… he and Holster used to get in those frequently enough.

The itch at the back of his head takes over and he is certain of it now, that something is _wrong_ but March texts and invites him to hang out and–

Well, he has been away from the Haus more this year. That probably explains the lack of data.

There. That’s it. That has to be it.

*^*^*^

Holster seems surprised when Ransom mentions that they better start working on their Halloween costume.

“Oh,” he says, taking a huge bite of bacon and then talking anyway. “You still wanna do that?”

“Dude,” Ransom says. “We’ve done it every year.” And for all the themed Kegsters they throw. “Why wouldn’t we do it this year?”

“Uh, I dunno,” Holster says, shrugging. “Maybe you want to do one with March?”

Ransom frowns. “Bro, no,” he says. He had promised himself that he was not going to be one of those friends who just _disappeared_ when they got a girlfriend. “Halloween is our _thing_.”

Holster looks at him, squinting slightly, and then a small pleased smile rises to his face.

“Okay, cool,” he says. Ransom doesn’t like that he sounds ever so slightly surprised. “Let’s do it.”

Holster pulls out a notebook and they start talking ideas and it comes dangerously close to flirting with his line again, but in the back of his mind, Ransom decided he needs to start keeping track of how he is spending his free time.

Apparently the balance might be a little off.

*^*^*^

Of course, plan “Hang Out with my Best Bro during our Senior Year More” is thrown off a bit by the fact that it seems Holster does not actually want to hang out with him that much.

Well, that’s not fair. He and Holster, as usual, spend huge chunks of their day together. They are still an amazing duo on the ice and there is team breakfast and then the American Studies Film class almost the entire hockey class is taking (primarily to annoy Bitty because Bitty is the only one who technically needs to take the class) and then they have captain’s meetings to plan more hockey plays and Haus dinners and–

He hangs out with Holster a lot.

Just not during the weekends. Or at night.

And maybe he didn’t notice it right away because it’s _Holster_ who is constantly telling him, “Dude, go hang out with March” and “Bro, I’m not going to third wheel your date” and “April is ‘swawesome dude, but she is totally hooking up Lardo’s art friend, Sarah, so double-dates can no longer be a thing.”

Even after he tries to fix it (so he can update his Excel sheet because now that he’s noticed his lack of data, it eats at him in the same way it does when his professors take too long to post his grades), it seems like Holster is the one who keeps encouraging him to leave.

Ransom keeps declaring bro-nights and sometimes March will text him and Holster _always_ tells him to not feel bad and to go hang out with her. Even if she doesn’t text, Holster will wait until after he’s had a few drinks, right when he is feeling loose and happy, and then him if he wants to see March and, look, Ransom _likes_ March and he is twenty-two years old so…

His bro-nights end up being bro-half-nights. Which is not enough. He still hasn’t updated the “Songs Sung in the Shower” or “Wrestling Matches Won” Category. And Drunk Holster _loves_ taking drunk showers and getting into drunk wrestling matches.

“Dude,” he finally says one night in November, drunken happiness turning into something darker. “Stop trying to get rid of me. I don’t want to go hang out with March. It is _bro night_.”

Holster blinks at him, gaze surprisingly steady, and it occurs to Ransom that Holster is not even that drunk. That he might be nursing the same drink he’s had for the past half hour.

So Holster blinks and then grins and–

“Bro, I’m not trying to get rid of you! I’m just… bros don’t stand between bros and you know… getting laid.”

The statement is… okay, it’s true enough. He and Holster have wingmanned the fuck out of each other on multiple occasions but this isn’t that. It’s different. Ransom isn’t sure how but he knows that much.

“Well, stop it,” he says and it comes out shorter than he meant it to. “I have a girlfriend now and she wants a night with just her friends so– stop. Seriously.”

Holster takes a moment again, tilts his head and _looks_ at Ransom, waits a beat before replying and Ransom is drunk enough that suddenly that _pisses him off_ , that Holster is fucking “reading” him or some shit and he opens his mouth to call him on it, dimly aware that he is _angry_ at Holster and he’s not sure why but–

“Alright, sorry,” Holster says easily, hands up. “Sorry, bro, you know I just didn’t want you to feel bad for leaving.” He takes a drink from his beer and to Ransom, it looks almost calculated. “You know not all of us are lucky enough to get laid on the regular. For some people, it’s still a big deal.”

The statement pushes Ransom further off balance. In part because he has to wonder if maybe he is taking the fact that he has a girlfriend for granted and briefly he wonders if Holster is jealous and if he should be wingmanning his bro more but then just as suddenly he’s mad because March is a person and shouldn’t be reduced to a way for him to “get laid on the regular” and he is suddenly very sure that if Shitty were here, Holster would get a very firm talking to.

It also throws him off balance because for all they joke around, he and Holster had spent their formative college years with Shitty and so they had both stopped making insensitive comments like that a while ago and he was pretty sure Holster learned even faster than he had. In fact, Hoster has been the one teaching the Tadpoles about feminism and consent and the necessity of making sure your _partner_ comes before you declare sex over. (“Unless they don’t want to and ask you to stop. But so help me if I hear one of you _fell asleep_ before reciprocating…”)

“C’mon,” Holster says, throwing an arm over Ransom’s shoulder. “If you want a bro night, we’ll give you a bro night to remember!”

That sounds like Holster. And Holster leads them to the beer pong table and they get on a hot streak and Ransom thinks that at some point they bust in on Bitty talking to Jack and steal the phone but it blends into one long happy memory.

It is a good bro-night. Maybe the best they’ve had in awhile and the weird little almost-fight gets lost in the haze.

*^*^*^

March breaks up with him on a Tuesday in November.

It’s weird because… it’s not that it’s a total surprise - they had both been getting busier and busier with their respective teams - but… he still _likes_ March. She is funny and beautiful and there is no Excel sheet for what he wants in a partner (people cannot be reduced to checklists) but he thinks that if there were such a list, she would hit almost all of the boxes.

But, “Look,” she tells him. “I like you a lot but… I’m really sorry, I just don’t see this going anywhere. Long term, you know and it’s our senior year so…”

_So I want to spend it with someone who matters_ , Ransom fills in for her. _So I want to spend it with my friends. So I don’t want to spend time on a relationship that isn’t going to last._

Ransom nods (because, okay, he thinks he gets it) and they end up agreeing on what they manage to say aloud. He assures her that she and April are still more than welcome at any kegster and they leave it at that.

As friends.

He’s still sorta bummed about it. Just because a part of him thinks that she was totally right doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck. The rest of him has still just been dumped. Hard. By a girl he likes.

Luckily he only has to tell Holster and nod when Holster asks if he wants him to tell the rest of the group. He gets a sympathetic shoulder bump from Lardo, a wide-eyed concerned look from Chowder, and three of his favorite pies from Bitty.

He tells himself he is going to give himself two weeks to mope about it, but Holster seems unwilling to let him mope and drags him out to a bar his first single weekend and it’s the result of going to a small school and bad luck that he sees March.

She is hanging with April and gives him a wave and a smile and for no real reason, he suddenly feels okay about it. Maybe not perfect, but a lot better.

She really was probably right.

They are better off as friends.

*^*^*^

Of course, right as he starts feeling better about March, he starts feeling worse about Holster.

Because, if he’s being honest, one of the things he was most looking forward to about being single again was the opportunity to fill in his Holster Excel sheet. There would no longer be any excuse for leaving categories blank and in the break-up, her statement: “I’d like to spend at much of my senior year with my best friend” is the one that he had agreed with completely. And so he is ready to do it.

Have the best senior year ever with his best bro. Who was always 100% supportive of his relationship but Ransom figures he is going to be pumped now that Ransom is free to have bro-night _every_ night.

The first few weeks after the break-up, everything seems to be going according to plan. Holster sticks to his side like glue and they play 8 solid hours of Mario Kart on the Sunday they have off and move all of the Tadpoles’ furniture into the hallway of the hotel because they can and they go on a three game winning streak and yet somehow, after almost two full weeks of hanging out with Holster nonstop, Ransom has _still_ not updated his “Songs Sung in the Shower” category.

He is getting desperate. Desperate enough that he almost allowed himself to count the post-practice shower singalongs even though he’s never let those count before. He almost adds them to the Excel Sheet anyway to make himself feel better but that won’t work, that would just be _corrupting_ the data and the mere thought of lying on Holster’s Excel Sheet has the back of his throat tingling with an impending panic attack so he doesn’t but there must be something and–

Three weeks after his break-up with March, they hold a Kegster. And according to the Excel sheet, it should be an _epic_ Kegster. No one else is throwing a party that night; the hockey team won a big game at home; Whiskey scored his first goal and Chowder got a shut-out and Ransom thinks this party is just what he needs to push him from “Mostly Okay with his Breakup” to “Totally Happy to be Single Again.”

It’s also their last Kegster before finals start. The Kegster before Christmas break is always a big one.

So everything points to the fact that this is going to be one of the best parties ever. Ransom is ready for it. He already put four bottles of water and a container of Advil next to their bunk beds and, not to be presumptuous, but he threw his pillow and blanket on Holster’s bed already because Drunk Ransom rarely feels like making the climb back up to his bed.

The pre-game goes fairly well. With being captains and all, he and Holster don’t have time to get costumes together but they honor Shitty’s memory by making a mean tub juice and they take their time setting up the beer pong table and making sure the Haus Rules are clearly displayed.

It’s during the actual party when the itch starts. He feels off balance for some reason, like something is wrong, and he finds himself scanning the crowd and at one point, he turns to tell Holster of his weird feeling, only to see that Holster is not standing next to him.

Holster is off talking to Nursey and Dex and, judging by the arm motions, is attempting to teach them how to throw a ping pong ball properly. Ransom blinks and shakes himself and wonders if he is more drunk than he thought because he usually always knows where Holster is.

Regardless, he walks over and grins and he fits right into the conversation and–

Half an hour later, he finds himself without Holster again. This time he’s by the keg, chatting with Tango, Chowder, and some of the girls from the volleyball team and, again, Ransom is left following.

The third time it happens, Ransom tries to tell himself he is being stupid, that he has never actually calculated how much time he and Holster spend together at kegsters, that he is just being oversensitive right now because it’s his first Kegster as a single dude in a while. Holster probably just got used to hanging out by himself when Ransom was with March and it’s not like they actually _have_ to do everything together.

It’s just… he’s pretty sure they used to. It’s not on the Excel sheet; there’s no “% of Kegsters spent together” category but… Usually when one of them wants to get more beer, the other chugs what’s left of his so they can fill up together. And Ransom has gotten so used to tag-teaming conversations that it feels a little weird to try and re-tell the best hockey stories without him.

Something is wrong and he is starting to think that Holster is _avoiding_ him.

And then when he goes a full twenty minutes without seeing his _very_ tall and very see-able best friend, he is forced to _ask Bitty_ where Holster is.

He’s never had to ask where Holster is before. He is the one that people ask. He always knows.

“Oh, he’s with Tracy… err… Tracy… I don’t know her last name,” Bitty says, talking loudly over the music.

“Tracy Donahue?” Ransom asks. She’s nice. She and Holster had hooked up a few times Sophomore year. He had no idea Holster was interested in starting something up with her again. ( _“Not to be TMI, dude, but she is like… crazy good at sex. It’s…” “Is she almost too good?” “Yeah! Yeah, like I actually can’t keep up!” “Oh my god, bro, c’mon.” “I’m serious… she is next level swawesome. She came like four times and I’m not sure I even helped that much!” “Dude, swawesome.”_ )

“Maybe?” Bitty says. “I don’t know but he left about 5 minutes ago!”

Something in Ransom snaps. Because he and Holster have _never_ left a party without telling the other where they were going before. In part because it’s just polite - if you are leaving, you gotta let your bro know that he has full use of the attic. But also mostly because they have a _code_. Well, technically, the whole Hockey team does. It started on the ice (“Got your back”) and then was extended off-the-ice by Shitty primarily as sort of a “not only girls should worry about being safe at night” thing.

Ransom and Holster have _always_ abided by that rule. Because, sure, they get drunk and do stupid things but they usually they do them _together_. And if Holster was going to walk across campus to hook up with someone, he should have at least _told_ Ransom where he was going. So Ransom doesn’t spend the night _worrying_.

This is… This is ridiculous.

That’s what Ransom decides. It’s ridiculous. Holster has been avoiding him and something is wrong and he is not allowed to just run off at one o’clock in the morning (which is pretty fucking _early_ to duck out of a Kegster).

Ransom is going to go find him. And find out what’s wrong.

He tells Bitty he is going for a walk ( _because he knows how to keep the Code, dammit_ ) and then heads out. If memory serves him, he thinks Tracy lives with April’s friend, George, on the other side of campus.

He is going to get to the bottom of this.

*^*^*^

The walk does not exactly calm him down at all. In fact, it does the opposite. With every step further away from the Haus, he thinks about how something must be wrong, how all the data points to it and then he thinks about Holster keeping it from him, about Holster _lying_ to him and he just gets more angry.

It doesn’t help that he calls Holster three times, gets no answer, and then arrives at the apartment complex where he thinks Tracy lives only to abruptly remember that is it George and _Tara_ who live out this way and by that point he realizes it makes no sense to just _wander around_ looking for his best friend who is probably having great sex so he turns around and heads home.

He is still pretty furious. Holster isn’t supposed to lie to him. And the more he thinks about it, the more he decides that Holster has been lying to him for _months_. Which is just ridiculous and it is their _senior year_ and they are supposed to be tearing it up and instead half of it is basically already _gone_ and–

It’s a strange thing, to suddenly see the person you are ranting about in your head right in front of you.

But there he is. Ransom would recognize him anywhere. Freakishly tall frame, broad shoulders that slope downward, blond hair that he rarely covers up because he claims hats make his head look even more square-shaped than it is. He is standing on the steps of the library and Ransom watches as he uses his height to reach up and slide something up along the door and then he shakes the handle exactly three times (in a sort of pattern) and then he pulls and the door opens.

Apparently library security is pretty lax these days. Ransom allows himself to be impressed by his bro’s breaking and entering ability for a moment before remembering that he is mad and Holster had broken the bro-code and–

“Hey!” he calls, striding forward. “Holster!”

Holster freezes for a beat and then spins, eyes scrunching together as if making sure it is really him and for the first time that Ransom can ever remember, Holster doesn’t look happy to see him.

He has the door to the library open and is standing perfectly still, and he’s not smiling. His mouth is just sort of hanging open and he looks utterly panicked.

Good, he must know he did something wrong.

“Dude,” Ransom says flatly. “What the hell?”

Holster flinches away from his voice. Flinches and then shakes his head and jerks himself and–

“Bro!” Holster says and the grin he pulls to his face is fake. Fake and stupid and Ransom takes two steps closer, which causes Holster to swing the door shut as if he is hiding something behind it. Which is stupid because it is the library. There is nothing there. “Uh, whatcha doing out here?”

“What are _you_ doing out here?” Ransom says, trying not to sound accusatory. He is pretty sure he fails.

“Nothing,” Holster says, a beat too quickly.

“Uh, Holtz, you just broke into the _library_ ,” Ransom says. “Obviously you’re doing _something_.”

Holster doesn’t say anything. Just sort of fidgets.

Holster never fidgets. Excel was right yet again. Something is wrong.

“Alright,” Ransom says, taking a breath. He’s still mad, sure, but his friend needs him. Anger might not be worth holding on to. He forces it down. “Dude, what’s going on with you?”

“Nothing,” Holster repeats and he’s smiling again. Small and fake. “I mean… I decided I wasn’t feeling up to it tonight with Tracy - you remember what I told you about Tracy, I just don’t have the stamina right now so I just… swung back in this direction. Figured I would camp out here.”

That story is stupid. Like, maybe it’s true or partly true but it is still stupid. And not really what Ransom is asking.

“No, I mean… are you okay?” he tries. “Because… dude, this is kinda weird.”

“C’mon, Rans,” Holster says. “Nothing’s wrong. I mean, what would be wrong?”

“So you just decided to break into the library and sleep there for _fun_?” Ransom says. That makes no sense. And it’s a fucking lie too. A shitty one at that.

“Don’t make this a big thing. I wasn’t gonna sleep here,” Holster says. “I just… it’s a quiet place to watch Netflix, man. Chill.”

“We have a room for that,” Ransom says.

“Look, I don’t know,” Holster says. “I just… felt like being in the library. It’s not a big deal.”

“No, it _is_ ,” Ransom says. “Look, I know something is up.” Holster has the audacity to look confused.

“Dude, I’m telling you, I’m perfectly fii–”

“Excel _says_ something is wrong.”

Holster goes still again. Goes still and then that look flashes across his face again, that look of _I’m trapped_ and–

“You said you don’t use Excel on people,” Holster’s voice is low. Almost shaky. “You- you told me that.”

“And _you_ told me to make you one!” Ransom says, throwing up his hands. “Remember? You helped make up the categories!”

“Categories of _stupid_ things,” Holster says, voice raising. “Shit like sitcoms and pizza rankings and– how could that even tell you anything?”

“It does!” Ransom says. “It just–” Suddenly it does seem a little weird. That Ransom had calculated the exact drop in laughter over time and made multiple charts graphing the change in Holster’s behavior since Senior Year started. “Look, I’m your best friend. I would know even without Excel.”

It’s true. It’s what had him going through the numbers so intently in the first place.

“Okay, well, just stop looking, alright?” Holster says, almost harshly. “Everything’s fine.”

“Uh, no it’s not,” Ransom says and his anger rises to meet Holster’s. “Something is clearly up with you.”

Holster glares at him and then tries to walk _around_ him and it’s ridiculous because they’ve never walked away from each other - not like this - but Holster is moving. Moving like he is going to _ignore_ Ransom completely and just head home and–

Ransom steps to the side and cuts him off. Holster skips back a step.

“Dammit, just _tell_ me,” Ransom says, taking another step closer. They’ve never really fought before. He’s not completely certain why they are fighting now. “I _know_ something is wrong. And I’m your best friend so just fucking tell me so I can fix it!”

“You can’t fix this,” Holster says and his voice has gone quiet in the way that it does when he thinks he is being the mature one. Which is stupid. Holster is never the mature one. Neither of them are.

“Yes, I can,” Ransom says and it’s all challenge. He’s moved even closer somehow. “Holster. Tell me.”

He doesn’t expect to get pushed backwards. He doesn’t expect it and he expects Holster’s low, angry voice even less.

“Dude, _leave it_ ,” Holster says. “You don’t get to know _everything_ about me just because you want to.”

Ransom steps forward again. Yes, he does. If it’s hurting Holster, he absolutely does get to know about it. Holster has helped him through approximately seventeen panic attacks over the course of their four years together and nursed him back to health through three particularly bad colds and held him after tough losses and he’s done the same and they are _RansomandHolster_.

He will be damned if he doesn’t help through this.

“Yes, I do,” he growls. “What’s _wrong_?”

“Stop.”

“No,” Ransom says. “Not until you tell me what’s–”

“I’m in love with you!”

It’s not that the words are loud - Ransom actually couldn’t say how loud they were - but they are angry and desperate and _real_ and–

“I’m fucking in _love_ with you,” Holster says and all Ransom can do is stand there because Holster sounds unhinged and this… this doesn’t compute. “Okay? I haven’t actually hooked up with anyone in like a _year_ so when I need a place to crash, I just break into the library and hang there because sometimes it’s nice to just get _away_. Because I’m in love with you and it sucks and that’s– this is what I do. And you can’t fix it so just _fuck off_ , Ransom, for _once_ just leave me _alone_. Just-”

Holster stops to take a breath and then he seems to realize what he’s just done and he goes from red to pale as a sheet instantly and Ransom is still just standing there. Like an idiot. Unable to think of a single thing to say. At all.

The silence drags and Holster sucks in another breath a hair too fast and Ransom is still trying to figure out what’s going on.

“Sorry,” Holster says, running a shaky hand across his mouth. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Rans. I-”

“Don’t,” Ransom says. He is still processing. He needs to limit the input. Just for a moment. “No, I- it’s okay.”

Holster is in love with him.

Holster, his _best friend_ , is in love with him.

“It’s okay,” he says again because he needs Holster to know that. It is okay. He’s okay. He just…

He doesn’t really understand what’s going on.

“Look,” Holster says, taking a breath that Ransom copies instinctively. He’s had years of forcing his breaths to match Holster’s during a panic attack. “Look, this isn’t a big deal.”

Ransom raises his eyebrows.

“I’ll get over it,” Holster promises. Ransom isn’t sure what his face does at that but it must do something because Holster has the good grace to at least sort of flush. “I will. I just… I don’t know. Some nights are harder than others. But it will be fine. We can still be friends.”

Ransom nods but it’s absentmindedly because he is shocked and going back over the Excel sheet to see if there is any possible way he could have known this information and he doesn’t think there is but the Excel sheet is supposed to help prepare him for these situations and–

“I mean, we can, right?” Holster asks and his voice goes higher than it usually does. “You’re not… freaked out?”

“What? No!” Ransom says. His brain isn’t still mid-reboot but he knows that much. He can’t believe that Holster would even _think_ that–

“Alright, then,” Holster says and he’s pulling himself together. It’s just like watching him recover from a hard hit in hockey. He takes a breath and lets it out slowly and carefully tests each muscle to make sure nothing’s pulled. If they were on the ice, he would nod at Ransom to let him know he’s okay and Ransom would nod back and then go out of his way to land a hit on whoever dared touch his best friend.

He doesn’t exactly know how to retaliate against this.

Holster is in love with him.

“C’mon, let’s just… we’re not going to make this weird,” Holster says, sounding firm. “It doesn’t change anything.”

Ransom wants to disagree. He wants to say it changes a lot because it _does_.

Doesn’t it?

Like… his best friend is in _love_ with him. That… that’s important. That’s like _life-changing_ important.

“But,” he starts. “But, dude, this is–”

“No,” Holster says. “I want you to forget I told you.”

Ransom blinks at him stupidly. What is–? He is just supposed to _forget_ about this?

“Bro,” he says. “That’s not– I can’t just–”

“Have you ever thought about it?” Holster cuts him off. Ransom is grateful. He wasn’t sure where he was going with that sentence.

“What?”

“Have you ever thought about it?” Holster repeats. It doesn’t help.

“About _what_?” Ransom says. He thinks maybe he is on the edge of a panic attack. Excel did not warn him about this.

“About _us_ ,” Holster replies. He sounds desperate. “About me or, I don’t know, even other dudes or… anything. Like that.”

“N-No,” Ransom admits. His life is organized. Everything has it’s proper category. Holster is his Best Friend. March was his Girlfriend. He is straight. He plays hockey. He is going to be a doctor. He has a 92% in his Bio class right now and needs to get a 96% or higher on his final next week to keep his 4.0. It is going to take him 14 hours of studying to feel confident and he thinks he will waste at least 1 hour panicking about it and Holster will talk him down. He will eat approximately 1.7 pies.

“You’ve never…” Holster fades, sounding… almost hurt before he takes a breath and barrells on. “You’ve never thought about dating me or holding my hand or- or making out at a kegster. You’ve never once considered that we might… that maybe… You’ve never thought about us.”

Ransom wants to say he has. He wants to say it because behind the clear flat words, he knows Holster is hurting and Ransom wants to make it better.

But he wants to lie even less. And Holster is in a category too. Holster is his best friend and is also straight and Holster will go to his deathbed telling everyone that 30 Rock is the best sitcom in the world even though according to all Ransom’s stupid calculations, he actually likes Community more. If you are judging by laughs per minute and how often he says “Bro, we gotta _do that_ ” while watching an episode.

So,

“No,” he says. Holster’s flinch is a small, contained thing that affects only the right corner of his mouth. It feels like a punch to the gut anyway.

“Then that’s what I want you to do,” Holster says. “Just forget about it. Don’t think about it. Go back to how it was.”

That is an unacceptable solution. Holster is his _best friend_. And he is _hurting_. Ransom can see it in the way his hands have crammed back into his pockets and the fact that his left shoulder is raised a hair higher than his right.

“But,” he tries again. “Holtz, we should–”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Holster says, looking down. His jaw clenches so tight Ransom can see the muscles flutter in his cheekbones. “Not- not ever, okay.”

Ransom opens his mouth to argue because c’mon, they are RansomandHolster. They can talk through _anything_. But,

“Please,” Holster says and the words come out tight. Rough. “Please just leave it.”

It’s desperate. Desperate and his right shoulder rises to meet his left as if he is trying to curl in on himself even while standing perfectly still and–

“Okay,” Ransom says even though he’s not confident that this is the right answer at all. “Okay, I promise. Nothing will change.”

Holster relaxes and brings a smile up to his face that wouldn’t fool anyone who has known him for longer than five seconds but Ransom forces himself to mimic it.

“Alright,” Holster says. “Thank you.”

Ransom has never wanted to be thanked for anything less in his entire life. Including when Bitty got a little drunk and tried to thank them for not locking him in a closet when he told them he was gay.

“C’mon,” Ransom says, trying harder because this is what Holster wants. “Let’s go play some Halo.”

“Only if we can convince Tango to play again,” Holster says, starting to move. “And then destroy him.”

“Like the fuckin’ tadpole he is,” Ransom agrees and it’s stilted and awkward and the rest of the walk home, the banter is just half a beat behind but they’ll get better.

Nothing will change. He promised.

*^*^*^

There are two weeks of exams before Winter Break and it’s not actually that difficult to keep his promise to Holster. He has those two weeks planned down to the letter (even his panic attack is accounted for, which he knows is weird, but it’s a system that works for him) and, just as expected, Holster talks him through it. He focuses on school and making sure the Tadpoles are doing okay during their first exam season of their college careers and checks in with Dex who has a tendency to overwork almost as much as him and it is like nothing has changed.

Well… almost. In reality, he thinks he tries a little _too_ hard to seem normal with Holster. He may text him a little more than usual and he cannot for the life of him remember how close they _used_ to sit on the couch, so he errs on the side of closer rather than have Holster think he is at _all_ uncomfortable.

Still, it’s busy and they don’t talk about it and so it’s only when Ransom arrives home and turns his phone on to see that he has 7 snaps from Holster (all of him singing on the drive back to NY) that he finally gets a chance to _think_ about it.

About the fact that Holster is in love with him.

And he had promised to not let it change anything but… Holster is his best friend in the world. And, well, maybe… maybe it _should_ change things. Maybe Ransom wants it to.

He owes it to both of them to at least explore it. And it’s Christmas break. Med School apps are in and he has a semester of classes such as “Beginning Acting” and “Adventure Games” to look forward to.

Now is the time.

Typing “How to tell if I’m gay” into google gives him a bunch of articles (some more useful than others) about issues that he is semi-proud to say he already knows about. (Thank you, Shitty). He reads over all of them anyway, starts to take a Kinsey Scale Test but cannot for the life of him chose True or False for some of the questions and after 45 minutes, gives up. Then he moves on to more informal sources. He reads blogs about people who realized they were gay and those aren’t as helpful because everyone seemed to just _know_ and he’s not sure he knows _anything._ He heads back into the world of fanfiction and is pleased to note that he _is_ turned on by that but then worries that that is just because _any_ guy who reads about blowjobs in that level of detail would be turned on and he still can’t really _picture_ it. Having sex with a dude.

Porn seems to be the logical next step. He finds it and watches it and there’s a rush of _fuck, yes_ when he ends up jerking off to it because if he can jerk off to gay porn then there’s a chance that he can _date Holster_.

The victory is short lived though. Because that night he decides to try… you know, picturing Holster while jerking off and that fails spectacularly. Because it’s… Holster is _Holster._ He’s… they have a ten minute best friend handshake and participate in burping contests and get in big angry fake fights about Salmon-colored shorts.

Still, when he thinks he should just let it go and accept that Holster is his best friend and nothing more, he feels… antsy. Antsy and maybe disappointed so he hits the internet again. He reads more scientific articles and more coming out articles and gets briefly sidetracked by tumblr at large because _man_ , that is a dangerous website and then he hits a particularly low point when he takes a _playbuzz_ quiz that claims to be able to tell if he is gay or straight. (It tells him he’s straight but he’s not sure he can trust a quiz that only asked 5 questions and one of them was simply “Can you dance?” Also he’s not even sure bisexual is an option.).

After all that fails to give him a definitive answer, he makes an Excel Sheet. He hadn’t been planning on making one because it flirts with his line of “about Sex” and “about Holster” but he figures this is something he needs to know about _himself_ and–

He types it all out, tries to think scientifically, breaks down exactly what he thinks he is attracted to and watches more porn to see if there is anything there and then quite abruptly, he realizes that almost his entire Excel sheet is about sex.

And a relationship isn’t just sex.

So he steps back.

Steps back and puts sex aside and thinks about being in a _relationship_ with Holster.

And suddenly it’s easier. Because having sex with Holster is New and maybe even Scary but being in a relationship with Holster, that’s more like… an extension. Growing on something they already have.

He’s never been as close to anyone as he is with Holster. Holster knows all his secrets and all his likes and dislikes and Ransom has more family than even he can keep straight, but Holster somehow knows almost everyone’s name. Holster has met his parents and teased his sisters and when Holster visited this past summer, he had fit into their family like it was nothing. He hadn’t even had to act any different.

He and Holster have already joked that they are going to live together forever (Holster is purposefully waiting to apply to jobs until they find out where Ransom is going to medical school) and sharing a room with Holster has never been a problem. He and Holster agree on almost everything important and Holster makes him laugh like no one else can and talks him through anxiety attacks like no one else and they have never really believed in any sort of “no homo” touching so Ransom already knows what it’s like to be hugged by Holster and tackled by Holster and he knows that he always sort of liked that they seem to fit together even though they are both sort of freakishly tall.

Once he reminds himself of that – of how Holster has lifted him in a celly before, of how when they are pressed for room on the couch, Holster will lift his arm so it is stretched along the back of the couch and Ransom can tuck himself underneath it, of how easy it is to fall asleep with Holster next to him – once he reminds himself of all those things, picturing the rest is simple.

He and Holster always walk next to each other anyway, so linking hands would be easy. Holster sleeps on his side, so all Ransom would have to do would be to curl around him and boom! Spooning. If he tilted his head up just like _so_ , Holster could lean forward and kiss him and–

Okay, so he’s not positive what comes after that.

But all the important stuff is there. He could live with Holster forever. He could live with him forever and they could be best friends _forever_ and he can’t quite picture the sex yet, but he can picture the _life_.

He likes it. He can be a doctor and they’ll get a dog that they both spoil and he won’t ever have to worry about going on another first date or Holster moving far away because of his partner’s job and they could probably extend their best friend handshake into a _couple’s_ handshake and make it even _longer_ and more ‘swawesome.

He likes it. He likes what they are and what they could be and he thinks that he would happy in that life.

He thinks he could make _Holster_ happy. Maybe. Hopefully.

He thinks they should at least give it a shot.

*^*^*^

He is smart enough not to tell Holster of his decision over text so it stays with him all through break. His own little secret. That Holster is in love with him and he’s decided that he can love Holster right back.

It’s the first thing he thinks about on Christmas morning and when the group chat blows up, he has the urge to tell everyone and that would be stupid so he almost tells his entire extended family instead.

He manages to keep it to one sister. And he keeps it simple.

“I think I’m going to date Holster,” he blurts as they finish up cleaning the kitchen.

Zoe almost drops the dish she is drying.

In fairness to her, a few moments ago they had been talking about their drunk Uncle’s poor singing. There was no segue at all.

“You’re what?”

“I’m going to date Holster,” he repeats, grinning. It’s surreal to say it aloud. It’s _awesome_ to say it aloud.

“Wait, what?” Zoe says. “You- you’re gay?”

“No,” he says. He’s not sure what he is, but he’s definitely not gay. He’s… bisexual might be the word for it. Unwilling to put a limit on his love for his best friend is probably more accurate. But for now, “I’m just… gonna date Holster.”

“Okay,” she says. She is looking at him like maybe he is a little bit crazy.

He doesn’t blame her.

That’s kind of how he feels. All the anxiety of questioning “Am I gay?” has turned into excitement that’s partly for himself, partly because Holster is going to be so _happy_ and he wants to name their dog something regal like Sir Gideon McCurdy.

*^*^*^

Of course because this is the _Samwell Men’s Hockey Team_ , Ransom returns to the Haus and then fails to have any alone time with Holster whatsoever. Everyone is already hanging out at the Haus and Bitty is making pies and Holster did a beer run on his way in so it’s an instant party. By the time they both stumble upstairs, Ransom is just sober enough to realize he is too drunk to have a serious conversation about how they should totally date.

So he waits.

He waits all through practice the next morning and team breakfast and then team _lunch_ because classes haven’t started up and then Holster wants to play video games so they do that and then they help with dinner and Holster looks about ready to do the dishes too but Ransom orders Dex and Nursey to do the dishes and then practically drags Holster upstairs “to finally unpack, dude, our room is a mess.”

Holster side-eyes him a little bit at that but luckily there is some precedent for him being the slightly more organized half of their duo. And then Ransom is suddenly so nervous that he actually lets them unpack in relative silence.

It’s only has Holster is stretching and taking one last look around their semi-clean room and probably getting ready to go downstairs that Ransom realizes it’s now or never.

“Holster,” he says, twisting in his seat by his desk. He’s been finished a while ago. He’s just been waiting for Holster to finish up. And trying not to watch him and grin like an idiot.

Something must come across in his voice because Holster immediately looks over to him. And then stills. He looks wary.

“Holster,” Ransom starts again. “I- I think we should date.”

He is 95% positive he had a better pick-up line then that but he cannot for the life of him recall what it was. There was probably a speech.

Right. Speech.

“I mean,” he starts, clearing his throat and trying not to sound awkward. Good lord, this might be the hardest thing he’s ever had to do. “I’ve been thinking about it and I think… I think that we should, you know, get together.” He throws in a hand motion. He’s not sure what it means but it’s there. He ends up laughing at it because it’s ridiculous and this is ridiculous and–

“Don’t do this,” Holster’s voice is soft. “Please, Rans, don’t–”

“I’m being serious,” Ransom says, not entirely sure how to convey that. He’s never needed to convince Holster he is serious before. “Holster, c’mon, I wouldn’t joke about this.”

Holster is still just staring at him.

“I think we should date. Er, be boyfriends.”

“No, you don’t,” Holster says. Ransom blinks. He… he hadn’t expected this. He thought at this point Holster would already be grinning and Ransom would be smiling back and he wasn’t entirely sure of the _rules_ that went with two best friends deciding to date but he figured he’d probably get a kiss.

At least a hug of some sort.

“What do you mean, ‘No, you don’t?’” Ransom says. The excitement in his stomach is turning into something different. “I literally just told you I do!”

“You’re just saying that because you feel bad,” Holster says. “You don’t _actually_ want–”

“Hey,” Ransom says, leaning forward. “You don’t get to tell me what _I_ want. I’ve thought about it, okay?”

“Since when?”

“All break!” Ransom isn’t sure how much detail he should go into. If Holster would find the multiple Excel files he has on his sexuality or their future lives together cute or creepy. So he leaves it at that. “Literally all break, I’ve thought about it.”

“All break. C’mon, Ransom, you literally _never_ thought about it before I told you that I- before that night!” Holster says. “That’s… somedays it was _all_ I could think about. So just… don’t do this. I don’t want to be your pity boyfriend.”

“Okay, no,” Ransom says, standing. “That’s not fair.”

Holster doesn’t say anything but his eyebrows go up.

“Look, man, I didn’t think about it because I didn’t know it was an _option_ ,” Ransom says. “I mean… okay, you didn’t think it was an option either but… Holtz, I thought you were straight. I thought you were straight and I thought _I_ was straight and my brain just…. We were both in categories! I’m not creative like you. I wouldn’t have thought to switch things up!”

“I told you _not_ to switch things up,” Holster says. “I told you to forget about it.”

“Well, I can’t do that,” Ransom says, louder this time. “You introduced new data and–”

“See!” Holster says, waving a hand and pacing faster. “Data! You- I-”

“What are you–”

“I can’t be your experiment, Ransom,” Holster says, stopping long enough to meet his eyes. Just as quickly, he is looking up and away and to Ransom’s horror, there might be tears. “I… You can’t use me to figure out if _maybe_ you like boys. I- I wouldn’t survive it.”

It’s Ransom’s turn to freeze. He freezes and Holster’s voice is tight and he’s blinking a hair too fast to be natural and without thinking about it at all, Ransom takes the two steps closer so he can wrap his hands around Holster’s.

“Holster, _no_ ,” he says. “I- I would never. Look, there’s no way for me to prove this to you but I _promise_ this is not an experiment. It’s not an experiment and it’s not because I feel bad for you, it’s… I just… I can’t say I’ve been in love with you this whole time but you’re my best friend. More than that. You… there’s always been something.”

He’s telling the truth. Maybe he didn’t see it because he assumed they were straight and he thought they were best friends but… they’ve always been closer than best friends. Even by Samwell’s standards.

They fit. Ransom _knows_ it. He might not know anything else but he has that down.

Holster looks at him then. _Really_ looks at him and Ransom looks right back and the moment drags but he doesn’t add anything because he thinks he’s said all he can say. He told the truth. Holster has to see that.

Then, Holster takes a breath and finally, _finally_ a hint of a smile is playing at the edge of his mouth.

“You… you’re really serious?” Holster asks.

“Adam Birkholtz,” he says, squeezing again. “I really, really want to date you. Do you want to date me?”

“I don’t– I mean, I _do_ , it’s just…” Holster goes quiet and Ransom lets him. “Look, I’ve never been in a real relationship before. What if… we could screw it up.”

Ransom blinks. He… he hadn’t thought of that. He hadn’t even made an Excel sheet for any sort of breakup.

“I mean, sometimes friends start dating and then it’s not what they pictured and it’s all just… ruined,” Holster continues. “And then they can’t be friends anymore. Ever. I don’t… I don’t want that.”

“Me neither,” Ransom says. The very idea of him and Holster ever not being friends is stupid. “But, Holtz, I don’t think we’d screw it up. I mean–”

He stops. He can’t promise anything. He knows that. There is still a lot to think about and it’s new and–

Suddenly it does seem crazy. To jump into a relationship that he already knows is serious. To start the relationship that he thinks is probably his _last_ relationship.

Still,

“I think we’d probably be really good at it,” he offers. “Probably the best.”

“Fuck,” Holster says, pulling away. He’s still smiling, though. “Fuck, I- this is… This is a lot, Ransom.”

“I know,” Ransom says and suddenly it seems like they are flowing again. They aren’t arguing and they are reading each other like they do on the ice and the warm feeling at the bottom of his stomach is back and his heart is beating fast but in a _good_ way. “Like… holy shit, dude.”

“Holy _shit_ ,” Holster agrees. “Um… I don’t… should we?”

Kiss. Right. Yes. That is what couples do. He and Holster have to do that. To make it official. Or whatever. Yes.

His mouth is suddenly very dry.

“Um. Yeah,” he says, hoping he sounds more confident than he his. He is just going to kiss Holster. No big deal.

Holster takes a step closer and belatedly Ransom realizes that he probably should too so he does but it ends up being more of a skip because he’s nervous and at least Holster looks just as unsure so that makes him feel better.

It doesn’t have to be perfect, he tries to tell himself. First kisses are rarely perfect but they’ll get this one out of the way and Holster is leaning in and it’s just like the Excel sheet said, Ransom just has to tilt his head slightly up and–

“I can’t!” Holster says, jumping back. “Fuck, it’s too–”

“Same!” Ransom says, feeling a rush of relief. “Like… am I allowed to say it’s weird? And I don’t think it’s cause you’re a guy. I’m just… I think I’m too nervous.”

“There’s all this _pressure_.”

“I know! It’s like it’s you. And it’s me. And I want to date you but…” Holster is his _best friend_. Excel says there is 98% chance that Ransom could very, very easily fall in love with him but… suddenly all he can think about is how this could ruin everything and how it will _change_ things and he wants things to change but they are also so great right now and–

“Idea,” Holster says because he is always the one with the ideas. “Maybe we… wait.”

“Wait?”

“Wait to, like, officially date,” Holster says. “It would– we would be changing a lot and we already know we are going to live together next year too so maybe for the end of Samwell, we just… wait.”

Ransom frowns.

“But, do we hook up with other people?” he asks. He doesn’t want that. He hadn’t realized how fiercely he didn’t want that until Holster said it. He… he wants _Holster_. And it’s probably selfish and definitely hypocritical but he doesn’t think he could watch Holster start dating or hooking up with someone else. Not anymore. “Because I don’t really want–”

“No,” Holster says. “No, we don’t hook up with people. We just don’t… rush into all the physical stuff. It- it’s more like taking it slow? I dunno maybe that’s stupid, i just–”

“ _Bro,_ ” Ransoms says, grinning. “Bro, that is _perfect_!”

“Really?” Holster says and his smile is beautiful. Ransom doesn’t really know why he didn’t realize it before.

“Yeah!” he says. “It’s like we’re Exclusive Best Friends with plans to Super Date at a later time!”

“Exactly!” Holster says. “Less pressure. We won’t have to worry about couple stuff.”

“Gives us a chance to get used to it,” Ransom adds. He thinks that’s his problem. He’s going from Presumed Straight to in a very serious relationship with his best friend in a very short amount of time.

“Okay,” Holster says. “We chill until graduation.”

“Then bone,” Ransoms says. Holster laughs at him.

“Dude, do you even–”

“I watched _so much_ gay porn over break,” Ransom informs him. “I am an expert.”

“Okay, well, depending on who you were watching, that doesn’t–”

“Do you want a list?”

“Bro, you did not actually–”

“I have an Excel sheet.”

*^*^*^

Ransom is used to the itch of anxiety in the back of his mind. He’s used to dealing with it almost every day and he is used to having it flare up during stressful periods of his life and the prickling along the back of his scalp is normal to him.

What happens to him after he and Holster talk isn’t that. It’s a prickling, sure, but it’s warm where his anxiety has always been cold and it originates from his stomach rather than his head and it zings around his whole body and makes him feel alive and it’s–

It’s a _thrill_.

The plan is to keep things the same until graduation, Ransom knows, but he had not anticipated all the little things that would somehow seem _different._

Sitting next to Holster is no longer just sitting next to Holster. It’s sitting down and suddenly being hyper aware how he can sit as close as he wants and how their thighs press together and now when Holster lifts his arm so Ransom can slide closer, he drags his thumb against the back of Ransom’s neck. It sends a spike of _something_ to his stomach every time.

Celebrating a goal with Holster is as it always was because they are in the middle of playing hockey, but celebrating a _win_ becomes _I can hug him and oh gosh, I just touched his butt a little and I hope he is okay with that._ Sleeping with Holster because of the ghosts means falling asleep as usual, but then waking up to find that whatever mechanism used to keep him flat on his back has failed and now he curls around Holster in his sleep.

(He jumps up the first time it happens, not sure how strict they are being on their Best Friends For Now Rules. When Holster doesn’t say anything or complain, he starts lingering. They watch the traditional 48 minutes of any sitcom curled together.)

Their text messages get a little flirty and they start looking at each other for a little too long and it becomes something of a struggle not to glance over too often at Holster when they are in the locker room together and sometimes there is so much _energy_ between them that Ransom thinks he is going to have to add a new category on Holster’s Excel sheet. Though he’s not sure how he could properly measure it.

He finds himself blushing for no reason and Holster had told him that as a bisexual dude, he was allowed to watch straight porn if that’s what he wanted, but Ransom sticks to the guys and it gets easier and easier to imagine him and Holster together.

It gets harder and harder to remember why they thought waiting was a good idea.

But it was their plan and no one sticks to a plan like Ransom so he focuses on not smiling softly at everything Holster does and, overall, he thinks they do a pretty good job of it. They even manage to get into a wrestling match without anything getting too heated. (It helps that it turns into a Haus-wide fight and they quickly turn their attention to trying to catch Bitty who laughs as he runs around whacking people with spoons).

They extend their best friend handshake and throw kegsters and play hockey and Ransom is certainly not counting down the days but when March hits, he tells himself he is almost to the halfway point and they are totally going to make it.

Then, they get snowed in. Which is a little bit ridiculous because it’s _March_ but it happens and the attic is always freezing in the winter but it gets especially bad when there is snow on the roof and so they decide to do what they always do in this situation:

Have a few beers to get a buzz going and obtain a beer jacket and then snuggle for warmth on Holster’s bottom bunk.

By this point, they’ve done it countless times.

The first half of the Survive the Frigid Temperatures plan goes off without a hitch. Ransom, Holster, Bitty, Lardo, and Chowder sit around and watch ESPN under piles of blankets and play rock-paper-scissors to decide who has to go get more beers for everyone. They call the other members of the team to make sure everyone is doing okay and help Bitty make homemade pizza for food and and by the time everyone goes to bed, Ransom can’t tell if he is perfectly sober or too drunk to realize he is actually quite drunk.

All he does know is that he feels _alive_. They’ve just had a forty five minute debate on the rankings of fruit “in a continental breakfast fruit salad” and it was stupid and silly and Holster is still grumbling about how “grapes totally can get mushy, bro. Like, at least watermelon is always a six or higher” and Ransom’s abs hurt from laughing so much.

That could also be from the hard hit he took at practice a few days ago but the laughter can’t have helped it.

“You forgot to take your contacts off,” he informs Holster as Holster finishes brushing his teeth and dives into his bed.

He sees the lump that is his best friend sigh.

“Too late now,” Holster says. “Bathroom’s too far away. It’s freezing.”

“Wimp,” Ransom says but he doesn’t even pretend he is going to sleep in his own bed. He just crawls into Holster’s and Holster lifts the blanket so they can share and they have _done_ this before. It is not a big deal.

But suddenly he is very aware that they are both just in shorts (“ _T-shirts strangle you in your sleep, bro.” “Bro, that’s what I’m always saying!!”_ ) and their legs are tangled together and Holster has drawn him closer so their chests are practically touching and–

He’s curled up so that his head is tucked under Holster’s chin. His mouth is right near Holster’s collarbone.

He could kiss it.

If he wanted to.

If he were allowed to.

If it were after graduation.

“So,” Holster says and his voice sounds different. Strained. It’s a relief to hear. It’s how Ransom feels. “Uh… who do you think is gonna get the C next year?”

It’s a stupid question and they both know it because obviously Bitty is getting the C next year but if Ransom wanted to, he could make a case for Chowder or someone else and they could argue about it but–

“Oh, fuck it,” he breathes and looks up, leans forward, and kisses Holster.

He’s not tentative or nervous or scared because it’s _Holster_ and he feels like he’s been waiting for years and Holster doesn’t waste a second, just groans and rolls onto his back, pulling Ransom on top of him and Ransom has an Excel sheet filled with romantic ideas he would like their first kiss to go ( _a quick peck still in their graduation robes; going on a walk and kissing in front of Faber; kissing him right before they go to dinner with their families; waiting until they move into their new place in Boston and carrying him over the threshold somehow_ ) and in all of them, their first kiss is simple and sweet and nice but this–

This is better.

Holster has his lip between his teeth a little so when Ransom tries to lean back, it tugs and he obediently falls forward and Holster’s hands are already gliding along his back and Ransom is grinding down because _fuck_ , he thinks he’s been horny for two and a half months now and Holster is always right _there_ and–

“Shit,” Holster groans as Ransom slides down to bite at his neck. He is going to leave a mark. He can’t bring himself to stop. “Rans–”

“Your idea sucked,” Ransom mummbles against his neck. “To wait til graduation. It was stupid. Stupid idea.”

“Yeah, well,” Holster says and then stops because Ransom kisses him again. Hard. Holster kisses him back and then gasps when Ransom bites on his ear and then – “It seemed like a good one. Easing into it. You didn’t know you liked dudes.”

“I was stupid too,” Ransom replies.

“Also, we were worried we’d ruin the friendship,” Holster adds. His hands dig into Ransom’s side, pulling him closer.

“Excel says that won’t happen,” Ransom says. Holster laughs. Ransom leans away to mock frown at him. The desperation isn’t fading but it’s morphing. To something like joy. They don’t actually need to rush. They can do this every day if they want to. This is happening. “Dude, you know Excel doesn’t lie.”

“You’re not supposed to make Excel sheets about relationships,” Holster tells him. “Remember?”

Ransom would feel more worried if Holster didn’t lift his head to kiss him again.

“Too late,” he replies. “Already made them.”

Holster laughs again and he’s blushing and now Ransom can see that Holster’s blush runs down his shoulders to his chest and he is going to have to add this as a category because this is something worth studying and–

“We are getting a dog,” he tells Holster. “With a ridiculous name.”

“Bro,” Holster says, grinning. “That’s _swawesome_.”

“Dude, everything is going to be ‘swawesome,” Ransom informs him. “Excel says so.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this has already been going around on Tumblr but if you have the time, I'd love to hear your thoughts!


	3. Mini Bitty Add-On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: This is not a new chapter about Ransom/Holster!
> 
> This is based on a [tumblr ask](http://petals42.tumblr.com/post/145759025374/your-sequel-to-keep-it-small-is-perfect-thank-you) that I responded to with the full story based on the line: "Ransom has never wanted to be thanked for anything less in his entire life. Including when Bitty got a little drunk and tried to thank them for not locking him in a closet when he told them he was gay."

Here’s how I imagine the Thank-You-Attempt by one Eric R. Bittle went down.

So it is about… a week. Maybe two after Bitty came out to Ransom and Holster and it’s been a bit of an experience because… he _came out_  and now pretty much the whole team knows and no one is acting any differently at all (well… except now the people they throw in front of Bitty for consideration are a bit more his type and so Bitty is acting differently because instead of fumbling excuses for why that girl is not his type, he is blushing and giving fumbling excuses for why _yes_  that boy is very cute but he has hockey and ohgod ohgod, it turns out he is too shy to actually _talk_  to boys and _no, Holster, DO NOT go give that boy my number- RANSOM! STOP!_ )

Anyway.

It happens like this:

It is a typical Thursday afternoon in the Haus. Which means Jack and Shitty are off at their history class (they take at least one class together every semester and it was Jack’s turn to pick) and Johnson is off being Johnson (or, as he put it, “I need to give you guys privacy for this moment. Bitty, remember to drink water”). Bitty is over making a pie; Ransom and Holster are playing Fifa and drinking because if they get drunk _now_ , at 3pm in the afternoon, they can sober up and wake on Friday hangover free. They have also explained this reasoning to Bitty who is rightly skeptical of the practice but they’ve already opened a can for him and well… it’s college. 

Of course, the alcohol tolerance of 2 boys over six foot who have a year of heavy drinking under their belt is slightly different from a much smaller boy who has only 3 months of college under his belt. What I mean to say is this: After 4 beers, Ransom and Holster feel a slight numbness in their hands and lips. After 4 beers, our dear Bitty is well on his way to being wasted. 

Baking his pie took longer than usual but when he strolls out of the kitchen (he is so totally walking normally. Yup. That’s him. Walking. Check him out.), he tuts at the pile of crap in the chair and is just about to sit on the floor (because he will not sit on that couch, he will _not_ ) but Ransom sees the problem and he shoves Holster over and indicates and both boys strip of their sweatshirts and lay them out between them so Bitty has a barrier and can still sit on the couch.

And then, casual as you please, they grab another beer and hold it out to him and when he is sort of staring, Holster reaches one arm out, grabs him and plops him between them.

“Alright, Bits,” Ransom starts. “You will now get the privilege of watching me destroy our dear Holtzy because Holster, for all his good qualities, is _terrible_  at Fifa.”

“Bits, THAT is an example of Canadian lies because what Ransypoo has _failed_  to mention is that I am _winning_  right now and–”

Holster and Ransom continue talking trash and laughing and playing their game and Bitty has never really been into video games and he’s drunk and he is sitting between two _huge_  jocks and they know he’s gay and still _like_  him and they didn’t even make fun of him for not wanting to sit on the gross couch and, again, he is drunk so he is just unprepared for this rush of affection for these idiots who are cursing over his head at each other good-naturedly and–

“Ya’ll,” Bitty says. “I– I just want to–” He has to stop to hiccup. “I… ya’ll are–”

“Are you okay, Bits?” Ransom says, eyes not really leaving the game. “Do you need another beer?”

“No, no, I-” Holster grabs him another anyway. “No, I just wanted to… I mean, what I mean is–”

“Oh my _god!”_  Ransom says, pausing the game and grinning at Holster. “Holtzy, I think our dear Bitty is about to have a _moment_.”

“Drunk emotions! Drunk emotions!” Holster chants and then both are spinning to look at him and they are so _stupid_  and he loves them so much and– “Tell us about your crush Bitty. I promise we can make it happen!”

“No,” he says, frowning. He is not drunk. He… he just needs to thank them. For being so wonderful. “No, I just want to say… thank you.”

The boys blink.

“For getting you drunk on a Thursday?” Ransoms says. “Dude, no problem.”

“It’s an honor,” Holster adds.

“No,” Bitty says. “No, I mean… thank you for… y’know, not locking me in a closet.”

On paper, Ransom and Holster look nothing alike but both their faces drop into an identical frown at that. It makes Bitty grin.

“What?”

“You- you didn’t lock me in the closet!” Bitty says again. “And you _know_ I am gay!”

“Dude,” Ransom starts. Bitty waves him silent.

“The other boys susss-suspected,” he says. “And they still locked me overnight. Which was rude because they didn’t really _know_. But you guys knew! And you… just didn’t.”

“Bro,” Holster says. “You are not thanking us for not locking you in a closet right now.”

Bitty frowns. Apparently he is not doing a very good job of this because he is pretty sure that is exactly what he is trying to do.

“Yes,” he says and then tries to sound extra sober. “Thank you.”

“Dude, shut up,” Ransom says. “Don’t thank us for not being dickwads.”

“Yeah, that is like standard,” Holster says. 

Bitty frowns. The point is that it’s _not_  standard. Not where he grew up.

“But,” he starts.

“Don’t do it,” Holster says. “We will be forced to lock you in a closet if you do.”

“You… you will lock me in a closet if I thank you for not locking me in a closet?” Bitty says. They both nod at him. “That… ya’ll, that makes no sense.”

“Rules are rules,” Ransom says. 

“But you just made that up!”

“We did not,” Holster says. “That has always been a Haus rule.”

“You know what else is a Haus rule?” Ransom says.

“Fuck the lax bros?” Bitty tries. 

“Yes,” Ransom says. “But also, if you are the drunk one and are drunk enough to have drunk emotions, you _have_  to tell your bros about your crush. So they can wingman you.”

“I am not drunk,” Bitty says, lifting his chin. He is so sober right now. The soberest. 

“Well, then you have to have another beer,” Holster says. He pushes the one he’d just opened closer. Bitty frowns. He is beginning to think that is a bad idea. 

“Telllll us,” Ransom says. “Tell us about your crush.”

“Well,” Bitty says because… well, apparently there are rules. “There… there is the one guy. In my Gothic literature class.”

“Oh my _god,”_ Ransom says. “HOLTZ! ITS HAPPENING! GET THE LAPTOP! GET FACEBOOK!”

“Okay, first name?” Holster says and how _did_  he get his laptop out so fast? Bitty didn’t even see him move. And Holster is a very large boy. Bitty thought he would have seen it. “Last name? No name? If you don’t know a name, that’s okay - give me hair color. Height.”

“Identifiable birthmarks?” Ransom asks. “Color bookbag? No bookbag - Bitty, don’t tell me you have a crush on someone who doesn’t have a bookbag. I can’t have you married off to a slacker.”

“Oh, is it Steve the Ice Cream freshman?” Holster says. “Gets ice cream every meal? Brown hair? I’m sure you’ve seen him.”

“I saw this kid Aaron reading Dracula the other day!” Ransom adds. “IS IT HIM?”

“Dude, if you are talking about Aaron Dorrel, than he is _not_  hot enough for our Bits,” Holster says. “Also, apparently he had sex with Martha and she told Angie who told Ben that he was like… not great.”

“Oh, wait is that ‘Weird Hand Stuff Boy’?” Ransom asks. “Wait. No, I thought that was Alex.”

“Oh, you know who would be good for Bits? Alex _Hendrill_.”

“OH MY GOD YES. Bitty, tell us is it Alex Hendrill? Because we can make that happen. I swear to god, if it is Alex Hendrill…”

Bitty isn’t sure he is needed for this conversation anymore. So he settles back against his pile of sweatshirts and laughs at the many _many_  facebook pages Holster and Ransom show him and when Shitty and Jack get back from class, Holster and Ransom are drunkenly debating which man on Samwell’s campus is remotely good enough for Bitty and Bitty himself is curled up asleep between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	4. Sophomore Year Add-On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if you thought this was long new content and got excited-- this is a tumblr ficlet I'm moving over:
> 
> This is one of the “two times” R&H have a threesome sophomore year before Holster stops it bc feelings (fair warning: this is semi-angsty).

Ransom is drunk. Holster is drunk too, but at least he remembers that Marie had giggled, kissed the both of them one last time, thanked them for a great time, and left to go walk home with her friend.

“Ooops,” Ransom says, lifting the blanket they have half-hazardly thrown over the two of them. “Holsster. Holtzy. We lost the girl!”

He devolves into laughter and Holster smiles because Ransom’s laughter might be his favorite thing. Holster loves the way his nose crinkles and he hunches into his shoulders like a little kid and–

No. Wait. He has to stop. Not now. Not when they are both lying in his tiny bed _naked_.

“She’s gone,” Holster agrees. “Lost. To the… the outside. ” He waves a hand in the general direction. “Gone.”

“Wait,” Ransom’s smile fades into earnest concern and he sits up. “Holster. Did Marie leave because we were _bad at sex_? Ohmygod, Shitty is gonna kill us. Remember his speech? Partners come _first_ , Holtzy. Oh, shit, we–”

“Bro!” Holster says, punching Ransom in the arm. “Bro, no, she got off twice. But her friend isn’t feeling well so she is walking her home.”

“Oh, thank god,” Ransom says, collapsing back onto his back. Then he starts giggling again. “We lost Marie.”

“Yup,” Holster agrees. “She just left.”

“Now we’re just two guys. Sitting around. Naked.” Ransom still laughs as if this is very funny. Holster forces himself to smile. It’s probably time to end this. He’s going to suggest Ransom climb into his bed in just a second. As soon as his eyes stop sort of sliding shut.

Shit. He should get up and take his contacts out. 

“Dude, Marie is so hot,” Ransom says. “I’m still hard as a fucking rock.”

“Same,” Holster admits. Though, he’d been watching Ransom more than Marie, if he’s being honest.

God, he should not have admitted that. Even in his own head. He is drunk.

“Wanna finish it up?” Ransom asks. His words are slurring but he seems serious. “We did some great work here today. A threesome for the ages!”

“The ages?” Holster says. 

“Yup,” Ransom continues, nodding up and down in big motions. “Putting it on the excel sheet an’ everythin’”

“You better not.”

“Let’s end it right,” Ransom says, sounding more confident. He sits up on one arm so he is above Holster. “Kiss a little.” He’s just as confident as he leans in. “See what happens.”

“No, I don’t think–” Holster starts.

“Do you not want to?” Ransom asks, jerking back. His eyes are ever so slightly unfocused, but he looks serious enough.

Holster’s mouth goes dry.

Because it’s not that he _doesn’t_  want to.

It’s that he does.

Too much.

He… god, he thinks that maybe- maybe he would _prefer_  if it were just Ransom and no one else and he think that he would prefer it if it was _always_  just him and Ransom and no one else and, god, Ransom’s eyes are beautiful and his cheekbones are beautiful and _he_  is beautiful and–

He doesn’t track the movements. He doesn’t know if he nodded or shook his head or leaned forward or reached for the back of Ransom’s neck and drew him in before or after they started.

All he knows is that they end up kissing. They end up kissing, Ransom hovering over him, his hand along Ransom’s neck, keeping him in place and it’s too uncoordinated to be anything other than sloppy and most of the little details will be lost in the morning.

Holster can’t say how long it lasts. He just know that he closes his eyes and _kisses Ransom_  and then Ransom is pulling away and flopping next to him.

He’s giggling again. 

As if it’s funny.

“Dude, we just kissed,” Ransom says. “Like with _tongue_.”

He laughs and Holster tries to mimic the sound as best he can.

“Yeah,” he agrees. It comes out hollow so he clears his throat and tries again. “Yeah, for real.”

“For real,” Ransom echoes. “But bedtime?”

“Sounds good,” Holster agrees. Ransom laughs and leans over and kisses Holster on the shoulder and then seems to pass out almost immediately. 

Holster doesn’t. 

He lies awake and wills his heart to slow down and tells himself that the prickling behind his eyes is because he never did get to change his contacts. 

_It will be better in the morning_ , he tells himself. 

He’ll get what was so funny in the morning. 


End file.
